White Ran Red

Be still, my heart,

"I cannot," she says,

"I have been cruelly broken,

and I am in too many pieces."

 

I pull out a pen and tell her to bleed.

Bleed onto paper the thousand words,

that keep her shattered,

and keep her uncured.

 

Nothing.

 

Slowly, she discards her trouble,

through words she hung,

"The air I breathed was his;

To the warmth of his kiss I clung."

 

"He knows what he's done,

but now he doesn't feel what I do.

People warned me,

'He'll only drain you until you're blue.'"

 

Thump.

 

Slowly, she bleeds,

until the paper is ruby red,

until her many pieces assemble;

undead.

 

"I can't let go,

for we are intertwined,

he created my rhythym with beautiful ecstasy,

if only we had more time."

 

Thump. Thump.

 

The more she bleeds, the less weight.

Destined to tear her apart,

is what she doesn't hate,

but she's coming back together,

 

Word by Word.

Page after Page.

Piece by Piece.

She graced with age.

 

"Now I am whole, darling,

but don't be afraid to love again,

Hurt will come back,

but look only to what we will gain."

 

"On that paper is my soul,

the hate, anger, and pain.

Within that pen is unending possible beauty,

share thy wisdom; don't refrain"

 

"Because this is how to deal with your strain.

Create beauty in its midst.

Write it down,

until it no longer exists."

 

"Create beauty through your brokeness;

create love when you don't want to feel;

create openess when you desire no one;

for this is how you heal"

 

Be still, my heart,

"I cannot," she says,

"For I have been cruelly broken,

and have discovered the beauty in which it lays."

 

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! Keep sharing keep writing! 

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